


Drowning on Display

by Hecate



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:18:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecate/pseuds/Hecate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re both suicidal in their own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning on Display

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, no money made. The title is taken from REM’s “Boy in the well”.

Before Lisa’s death he never choked when he saw blood, never hesitated to move a body and touch dead flesh. He does now; he trembles and shakes, his body a swinging wire when he cleans up after the team. He exchanges corpses, cleans away blood and gore, and he sees Lisa in every body and her blood in everything red. 

He keeps on doing his job anyway. Because that’s what he is and with Lisa gone there’s nothing else but the routine of cleaning the Hub, bringing food and coffee, turning the traces the team has left behind on the streets invisible. He’s good at it and now that he doesn’t have to look after Lisa, he’s even better, although he breaks and splinters every day.

He used to train every day when he was at Torchwood One, shooting and fighting, and he used to be good at it. He had to be. The Field Agents left something alive behind more than once, their hurry turning into a death trap when he cleaned up after them. Torchwood Three wasn’t any different, but he was quiet about it and he didn’t practise his defences enough because there was no time. Because Lisa needed him. After her death he thought that maybe that wasn’t because of her only. Maybe he wanted to give death a chance. Maybe he still does.

Maybe he just wants to give up.

He dreams of it at night: of dying because he let himself slow down, because he didn’t check every dark corner of a crime scene, because he didn’t try hard enough. But he wakes before death claims his body, and he’s breathing in his bed, choking on tears and memories.

His Torchwood One team is dead, Lisa is dead, his life is in ruins. And yet he’s still there, a clock ticking away the days and weeks. And sometimes he thinks he should do something: kill himself, get help, just something so things change. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

Ianto knows what this is: trauma, shock, depression, survivors’ guilt. Post traumatic stress syndrome. He has seen this before, Torchwood agents turning into shallow shadows of themselves after missions gone horribly wrong, gaunt and bitter for months. Some of them made it, some of them didn’t - suicide or suicide missions. He wonders which path he’ll take. Life or death - he can’t decide which one he prefers.

He doesn’t even know if it still matters.

When they come back from the village that wanted to turn them into a fresh meal he stores away the memories and straightens himself. He knows now, Torchwood is his suicide mission, and he feels it in every move, bruises and cuts burning. He just has to wait now and things will be fine.

He talks to Tosh sometimes because she’s there and there are moments when he can’t keep the words inside of him and they fall like autumn rain. He mocks all of them in a toneless voice, just as he did before, and he dodges Gwen’s attempts to reach him, and he shrugs off Jack’s hands when Jack offers understanding.

He lets Jack fuck him because it’s the easy thing to do. He knows that Jack will believe that Ianto is ok because Jack is allowed to touch him, to be inside of him. What Jack doesn’t understand is that his touch doesn’t matter, his kiss is tasteless and his whispers aren’t heard. Ianto lies with his body as well as with his voice and when he comes with the wrong name on his lips he does so quietly, whispering ‘Lisa’ into Jack’s skin. 

He’s gone by early morning, showering in one of the Hub’s bathrooms, dressed in a new suit soon after and making coffee by the time Jack comes up. He feels Jack watching him, eyes following every single one of his movements, and he looks at Jack briefly.

“Anything I can do for you, sir?” And Jacks shrugs and just keeps on watching him, and so Ianto finishes the coffee and orders food for Myfanwy and tries not to remember the pterodactyl swooping on Lisa like a fighting jet. Sometimes he thinks of killing it, sometimes he reaches for a weapon, but he doesn’t. Seeing Myfanwy hurts, his wings carrying images and screams, but that’s almost all that’s left of Lisa now. He gave her things to her parents after Torchwood One, promising himself that Lisa and him would make new memories, buy new things. Now she’s really dead and there won’t be new memories, just Myfanwy and a room in the basement Ianto never enters.

When he comes back Jack still stands where he left him, drinking coffee, looking at Ianto with blank eyes. Ianto knows this look, has seen it on Jack’s face many times, sees it on his own every day in the mirror since Torchwood One fell, and he knows that behind the face everything is bleak and empty as well. Before Lisa’s death, he used to wonder what put that kind of look on Jack’s face, but he doesn’t anymore. He just hopes that sometimes it hurts.

Jack puts down his cup, empty now, and Into knows that Jack will kiss him before he even moves. He lets him, hiding his anger and hatred behind an eager tongue, his hands turning to fists and his mind conjuring the touch of Lisa’s lips. He tells himself that it doesn’t matter anymore, that Jack might as well have him because Lisa is dead and Ianto is dead, too. And as long as Jack thinks Ianto is alright he won’t try to heal Ianto, he won’t try to take the pain away. Ianto needs to cling to the pain, because it's the only thing Lisa has left behind. 

When Jack withdraws he smiles at Ianto, a showing of teeth and sadness, and Jack’s hand is warm as he traces over Ianto’s face. 

“Is this why you let me stay?” Ianto knows he shouldn’t ask this, shouldn’t remind Jack of what has happened, because the Hub is made of cards these days and a slight shift of mood, an argument, a question, will send it tumbling down. He still asks, because when he talks Jack won’t kiss him and Ianto can lie with his voice instead of his lips.

“No. It’s because of what you said.” And Ianto can only frown at Jack’s answer, because he said many things and none of them could be a reason to let him stay.

“You said you would watch me suffer and die. I know how good you are at what you do, Ianto. I don’t die easily but you might have a good shot.”

Jack kisses him again, and he tastes of salt and coffee now. When the kiss ends, it feels like ‘sorry’ and ‘goodbye’ and Ianto can’t help but stare after Jack. For a moment he wants to tell Jack that he doesn’t want to kill him. For a moment he believes it. But then he feels the hatred again, tired and cold, and he knows that he will have plans to kill Jack. Just not now, not so soon, he’s still too tired. But he will wake up and he will still remember Lisa then. 

The Hub is quiet in the morning without the rest of the team there and Myfanwy flying somewhere high beyond his hearing. It takes Ianto a while to realize that the Hub hadn’t been any louder with Jack standing beside him. 

_Ghosts_ , he thinks, _we’re both waiting to be ghosts_. He breathes, calmly, not to disturb the silence, and when Gwen comes in, the first of the team, he hands her a coffee and smiles.

This will be alright, he knows now, because him and Jack, they’re both going down.


End file.
